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Are you an immature idiot who has no business calling yourself an adult? Yeah, me too. In fact, there are some grown up things that grown ups are supposed to do that I blatantly ignore. Every day of my life. Mostly this includes small things, like total disregard for what is in my bank account versus the amount of shit I buy. But I won’t beat myself up about it. Actually, I will continue to not do whatever I don’t feel like doing, because fuck conformity. I guess. Anyways, one of the WORST adult things to do is laundry. I try to live in denial about my laundry pile before I actually attempt to murder it. And by “denial”, I mean I run out to Marshall’s or the mall to buy a new outfit before I so much as glance at the hamper. My bedroom floor is scattered with TJX companies’ tags and H&M bags at all times. I could probably start a really lame scrapbook that reiterates how I spend $12.99 on most tops that usually look the same, but that would be time consuming.

I can’t be the only one who finds laundry to be the worst. Like the great but socially awkward wallaby Rocko once said “Laundry day is a very dangerous day”. Typically, when it is finally acknowledged, laundry is saved for Sunday afternoons. But I’m also a 26 year old female and I enjoy a little Sunday Funday brunch here and there. Translation: I do laundry while intoxicated. I mean, how else can anyone expect me to sift through weeks of dirty laundry, and tote it down 4 flights to the creepy basement in my apartment where there is sometimes a very skinny 100 year old lady wandering (almost floating) silently with a nightgown on and crazy hair? And even after I tote it to the laundry room I have to like, waste quarters on something my mom did for free from 1987 to 2000-something (I love you mom. I miss you. Every day. Move in with me?). So if your answer is “you are expected to do laundry sober because it’s the adult thing to do” then I guess we are on different life levels. And by that I mean I’m a functioning alcoholic and you are not, and for THAT I resent you.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. I mean, all I have to do is throw some dirty clothes piles into a couple of machines. Not that hard. It’s the fucking FOLDING that makes me want to punch an adorable old man. You lug that shit back up the stairs because America is fat and no one believes in elevators anymore, then you have to maneuver a shit ton of cotton into neat little squares that fit into your drawer, and even then you have cloth sticking out, making your room look sloppy. And THAT is why I donate to charity.I don’t even know why I complain about folding because I basically refuse to do it. I just rotate my laundry pile from the hamper, to my couch until people come over and I move it to my bed, until I go to bed and it goes back to my couch again, until the pile dwindles down and I have to do laundry again.